


we can stay here and laugh away the fear

by live_laugh_murder



Series: intertwined [2]
Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Comfort, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Minho and Thomas are such a good BrOTP, Newt is alive, Nightmares, Post-The Death Cure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 07:00:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9424403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/live_laugh_murder/pseuds/live_laugh_murder
Summary: Thomas is just trying to move on and be happy. But it's kind of hard when your supposedly dead best friend sends a message telling you to come see him.Prequel to "you create a rarity of my genuine smiles" but it doesn't matter which one you read first





	

It's the sound that finally puts him out of his misery.

As he shoots up and screams, he looks around, expecting to see his best friend's body somewhere in the room, a gun in his hands, but there's nothing. No one.

"Thomas? Thomas! Look at me!"

He does, eyes finding Minho, who must have rushed into his makeshift house when he heard the screaming.

Thomas quiets himself, putting a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound of his cries. There's no doubt he's woken plenty of people up; they're probably outside right now, waiting.

"You okay?" It's a stupid question, and they both know it.

Thomas just shakes his head, and watches as Minho comes closer and hugs him.

"I still get them too," Minho says, a failed attempt at making Thomas feel better. "I keep seeing our friends. And the grievers. And the cranks. All of it. But none of that klunk matters anymore, alright? We're safe."

"I - I know. I know," Thomas says quietly, knowing if he speaks any louder he'll start crying again. "They just won't stop."

Minho sighs and pulls away, a hand still on Thomas's shoulder. "Wanna tell me what this one was? It might help."

"It was Chuck." Thomas can't break his promise now. Not now that they've gotten so far, made it all this time. It might have been years, it's hard to tell at this point. But Minho can't know what he did. "I just... I saw him... and there was a crank, and... You know the rest."

"Yeah. Well..." Minho looks around, rubbing his face and squeezing Thomas's shoulder in reassurance. "It's pretty early, but do you wanna go see if Fry needs help cooking?"

Thomas hesitantly nods, biting his thumbnail anxiously. "Yeah... Sure."

Chuckling, Minho stands and claps him on the back. "Well, come on, ya ugly shank."

It's just beginning to brighten up outside, and there a few kids here and there running around. As Thomas follows Minho, he watches them, almost jealous. Wouldn't it be nice to never have to worry about if you'll survive another day, or if everything about your normal life is a trick? To just be happy and have fun?

As he zones out, he nearly runs over a kid when the boy collides with his leg. "Whoa," he says, stopping in his tracks and picking the kid up, putting him back on his feet. "Watch out there, Jack." He smiles softly at the boy, probably around three years old.

The kids are the only way they have some sort of idea how long they've been in the Paradise. The oldest kid that was born in the Paradise looks around four or five, so they must have been here longer than that. It's not something that's very important to Thomas. He just wants to enjoy his freedom; but it would be nice to know at some point.

"Sorry, Tommy!" Jack exclaims, giggling and smiling up at him.

Thomas's smile falters, and he sees that face flash in his mind for a second. First it's happy, calming, and he's sure things are okay again, but then he sees the anger in his eyes that night, and he shakes his head to snap himself out of it. "I've told you, buddy. It's Thomas."

"Oh, Thomas, I am so sorry."

The brunette turns to see a woman making her way to them, tall and blonde, just like her son. "No, no, it's okay. He's fine."

She huffs, looking down at Jack. "I've told you not to bother them. Minho and Thomas are always busy."

Minho smiles. "Not too busy for you, Jess," he comments with a wink.

Jess rolls her eyes at him, but smiles right back. "Well, good. Then I'll see you tonight. We're having a little party at the Shack. And you are more than welcome to escort me."

"It's a date," Minho agrees.

Jess grins wider, picking up her son. "You come too, Thomas. No one sees you anymore."

As she starts walking away, Jack waves at them over he shoulder. "Bye-bye, Tommy!"

Thomas shakes his head. "It's Thomas," he calls back.

Minho sighs as they start walking again, glancing over at his friend sadly. "Listen, I know you miss him. I do too. But are you really just not gonna let anyone call you Tommy?"

Thomas nods, staring straight ahead. "Pretty much."

"Come on. He's a little kid. It's just a nickname."

Thomas stops, turning to look at Minho and shaking his head. "It's his nickname. It just reminds me of him, and I can't... When I think about him, I can't think about anything else..."

"I get it, man. I know that was Newt's thing, but - "

"Okay, I don't wanna talk about this. Let's just go."

Minho sighs, turning and beginning to walk again. "Okay. Fine."

After a few moments, Thomas seems to forget about the conversation they were having before and looks over at Minho, smirking. "So? Jess? I thought she had a boyfriend. You know, the father of her son?"

"I don't know," Minho responds, shrugging. "That whole thing is complicated and Im not gonna try to understand it. But hey. I got a date." He grins, patting his friend's back before starting to run, and Thomas goes after him. They end up getting distracted and forget about Frypan, and they have a great day, just messing around and having fun, not thinking about what they've been through, but not trying to push it away either. For the first time in all of Thomas's memory, he's not just surviving, but he's living.

When it gets dark, Thomas finds himself by the ashes of the burnt shack with Brenda and the rest of the family he's made. It's loud. People are yelling, singing, and there's a big fire at the center of it.

Brenda grabs Thomas's hand and they dance around like crazy people for the longest time. It makes him so happy, seeing one of his best friends having the time of her life. They keep laughing and laughing, even though there was no joke, but he doesn't question it. Just cherishes it. Because he knows that no matter how great he feels now, at some point it's gonna stop, and he'll be reminded of what his life is, and it will all come crashing down on him.

And he's right.

The shouts and laughter are cut off by a loud blaring sound. Like an alarm. Everyone is looking around in confusion, panicking, but Minho acts quick and pulls Thomas and Brenda away from the crowd.

"Everyone stay here!" he yells, though Thomas isn't sure anyone can hear him over the alarm. "We're gonna go check this out! Stay calm!"

And without another word, he takes off, leaving Brenda and Thomas to follow him. "What the hell is it?" Thomas yells to Brenda as they run.

Brenda shakes her head. "I don't know, but it can't be good."

Minho stops at a shack on the edge of the forest, opening the door and going in. He comes back out with three guns, giving one to each of them. "We don't know what we're dealing with. Could be dangerous."

"Do we even know where it's coming from?" Brenda shouts over the loud sound.

Thomas shakes his head, looking around. He wants to give up, but then he sees a dot. It's red and blinking, so small he's sure no one has ever been that far out. "There."

Minho must have seen it, too, because Thomas doesn't have to point at it before he starts running towards it.

He can't remember the last time he had time run this much, this fast, and he finds himself getting tired and out of breath by the time they're halfway there. "Just hang on!" Minho yells. "Almost there!"

It seems like hours before they finally find it, an alarm sticking out of the ground, right beside two metal doors. It's the Box.

Well, not The Box. But a box. Just like the one in the Maze. Thomas is filled with dread and fear, but his curiosity gets the best of him.

Minho beats him to it, though, opening the doors. As soon as he does, the alarm stops. "There's nothing - wait." And he jumps into the box, crouching a grabbing a small piece of paper.

It's completely silent for a few moments as Thomas just watches his friend's expression turn from confused to sad to disbelieving to full of hope.

"What is it?" Brenda finally asks.

Minho glances up, as if just noticing they're standing there, and hops out of the box. He takes a deep breath before stepping to Thomas and holding out the paper.

Thomas quickly takes it, and as his eyes find the words, his chest tightens.

_You can come up now - Newt_

"It's him, Thomas," Minho finally says. "He's alive."

Brenda takes the paper, studying it before looking up at the two. "How? He couldn't possibly have survived it."

"Who cares how, he's alive!" Minho exclaims, a bright grin on his face. "We have to go - Come on, Thomas - "

But Thomas shakes his head, snapping out of his daze. "It's a trick. It has to be. Let's just think about this, alright?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Minho asks, scoffing. "You're the one who's most broken up about this, are you saying you don't even wanna see if it's him?"

Thomas rubs his face with shaking hands, taking deep breaths that do nothing to help him calm down. "It's not him."

"And how would you know?" Minho asks.

"Newt's dead," Thomas finally whispers. "I killed him."

It seems like Minho has stopped breathing, just staring straight at him, frozen. So he keeps going. "That night that we planned to attack WICKED. We were on our way and a bunch of cranks ambushed us. I saw Newt and I got out. I wanted to bring him with us, figure out a way to help him." Thomas takes another shaky breath, wiping tears away. He hates reliving this. "But he wouldn't let me. He attacked me. He told me he would kill me if I didn't kill him."

Minho shakes his head, looking at Thomas like he's the most despicable person he's ever laid eyes on. "So you did?"

"What else was he supposed to do, Minho?" Brenda asks.

"Shut up!" Minho yells, the sudden outburst shocking them both.

Thomas nods softly, sniffling. "I shot him. In the heart. There's no way he survived it."

He can see Minho using all his strength not to hurt him. To kill him, maybe. And finally he relaxes, but he won't look at Thomas. "Well, I'm going. If you wanna come, great, but I need to see who the hell wants us to leave this place."

"I'll come," Brenda offers.

Thomas shakes his head. "No. I'm going. You need to stay here and be in charge. Keep everyone calm." He can see that she wants to refuse, but she doesn't.

"Okay," she replies, sighing. "Be careful. Both of you."

Thomas just hugs her in response. When they pull away, he finds that Minho is already waiting in the box, and he jumps down beside him. Brenda walks over and closes the doors, and as soon as she does, they fly up as the box shoots down. After what feels like forever, it stops, and they wait for it to open, but instead it starts going again. Sideways. It's less vomit-inducing, so they just sit in silence until it stop again. And this time it goes up.

"What is happening?" Minho asks. It's completely dark, so there's no use in looking around.

Then, finally, it stops for good. They both stand up and wait, guns in hands. After a minute, Thomas can hear the sound of metal on cement, and the two boys aim their weapons up, fingers on the triggers.

It's still dark when the doors are opened, but the cool air is a relief on Thomas's skin. All he can see is a dark figure standing above them, staring

"Whoa, slim it, boys. Don't wanna put a bloody hole in my head, do you?"

Thomas is vaguely aware of the weapon slipping from his fingers to the ground, of Minho laughing and jumping out of the box to hug the figure, but he can't seem to move himself. It was him. Definitely him. But how?

Then the figure bends down, his face just above Thomas, and all he can do is stare. There's that smile that always made him feel like the world was okay, and those eyes, that always calmed him. It's right in front of him, but he can't believe it.

Newt and Minho pull Thomas out, setting him on his feet and watching him stumble for a moment, dazed.

"How are you here?" Minho finally asks. "What happened?"

"I'll tell you shanks everything, but let's get inside first. Coffee sound alright?" Newt turns to Thomas, who's just staring at him, like he just sprouted a third ear. "Tommy?"

At this, he comes back to earth. Only he can't seem to hold himself up, his knees too shaky, and he nearly falls before Newt catches him. "I killed you. I killed you." He says it over and over again, breathing heavily and freaking out over the fact that his dead best friend is right in front of him, holding him up.

"It's hard to understand, I know," Newt says softly. "But I'll explain everything once we get settled inside. Come on."

It's then that he finally looks around and realizes where they are. A neighborhood. At the top of a hill. Houses line the streets, and there are street lamps, but they aren't on. The houses go on for a while, but down at the bottom of the hill is what looks like a shopping center, or maybe a town square, for whatever this place used to be.

Minho and Newt walk a few houses down the hill, Thomas following closely behind, just focusing all of his energy on not falling on his face. Newt walks up a few steps on one, then opens the door and steps aside, allowing for his guests to go inside.

It's dimly lit with a few candles and lamps. It's pretty neat, with two chairs a couch around a small table in what seems to be a living room. There's a big bookshelf, books covering every inch and placed randomly around the room as well, and there's even a television, sitting on a table on the far side of the room. It's covered in dust, so Thomas is sure it hasn't been used in a while.

"How..." Minho starts, looking around. He can't seem to finish his sentence, though, too busy being in awe of the place.

"Well, come on, boys." Newt walks right past them, his pleased smile evident in his voice as he walks through a doorway.

Thomas quickly catches up to his friends, finding himself in a small kitchen, with a refrigerator, stove, sink, and all the other necessities. Newt starts messing with a coffee maker on the counter, and Minho just sits in a stool by the wall as if he's done this a hundred times before.

''So when are you gonna start explaining all this?" Minho asks after a minute.

Newt sighs, looking up at them both. "After we get some coffee and Tommy is calm enough to think straight."

At his name, Thomas looks up, hating how they're both just looking at him, as if he needs to say something. "Uh... I - I need... Is there somewhere I can go and just - "

Newt must know exactly what he needs, because he quickly nods and pushes himself away from the counter, towards Thomas. "We'll be down in a few minutes," he says to Minho. "Keep yourself busy, and don't break anything."

And he puts a hand on Thomas's back, leading him back through a dining room with a table and four chairs around it, and up a set of stairs. Thomas is still shaking, so after just a few steps Newt has to hold him up again. His smile and cheekiness from a few minutes ago is nowhere to be found, and the brunette isn't sure if that's good or bad.

"I know this is really hard and confusing, Tommy," Newt finally says when they reach the top of the stairs. "I'm sorry."

As they walk through a long hall, Thomas doesn't say anything. He can't. It's the first time he's alone with Newt in who knows how long, and he can't waste that. He's not even sure if he believes it.

Newt takes him through a bedroom, with a big bed and more books, clothes thrown about, and into a bathroom on the other side of it.

It's like as soon as that door shuts, everything building up inside of Thomas just comes out, and he has to hold himself up with the sink, tears in his eyes and face twisting in sadness.

"Tommy..." is all Newt can really say, just staring at his best friend sadly.

Thomas looks up at him in the mirror, then turns to him, his hands over his mouth and nose. His eyes won't leave Newt's, searching for something. He doesn't know what. Maybe something fake. A glitch. To prove that none of this is real. But all there is is pity and guilt.

"I killed you," Thomas whispers into his hands, shaking his head. Then he brings his hands away, saying it again. "I - I killed you. I shot you!"

Newt steps forward and pulls Thomas in, burying him in his arms. "But I'm here. I'm okay."

Thomas doesn't hold back his sobs, his body shaking violently in Newt's arms. "I'm sorry, Newt, I'm so sorry... I - Please, I'm sorry..."

Newt pulls away, brows furrowed in confusion, and studies his friend. "What? For what? Tommy, please look at me."

So Thomas wipes his eyes and glances up, and looking at his friend who's supposed to be dead just makes him want to break down even more. "What - What I did..."

"No, I didn't give you a choice. I would have killed you. Don't apologize."

Thomas shakes his head. "Not just that. Everything."

"What?"

Taking a shaky breath, he wipes more tears from his face. "You - You were right. I worked for WICKED, I should have - should have done something to stop it, but I didn't, and it's all my fault. It's all my fault, Newt, and everything you and everyone else went through - I can't stop thinking about how it's because of me. So many... So many people have died. Our friends. Alby and Chuck and Teresa and - "

"Wait. Teresa?" Newt asks.

Thomas hesitates before nodding. "She's dead. And it's my fault."

But Newt just shakes his head, pulling him back in and holding him close. "None of it is your fault. That wasn't me. I was sick, it was the Flare. You know that. I didn't mean any of those things."

"But they're true!" Thomas shouts, pushing Newt away. Something he never thought he would do. "I was selfish and stupid and maybe if I wasn't then so many people wouldn't be dead. I - I hate this, I hate feeling like this. I fucked it all up."

"No. No, that's a bloody pile of klunk, alright?" Newt grabs Thomas's face, forcing him to look at him, straight in the eyes. "If it weren't for you, more people would be dead. You're the reason so many people have made it this far. I promise you, Tommy, there is nothing I've ever been more sure of in my life."

And this just breaks Thomas even more, and he brings his face down to his hands and muffles a loud cry. Before he knows it, he's on the ground, and Newt doesn't hesitate to fall down, too, holding his best friend close and rubbing his back. Thomas isn't sure how long it is before he finally stops crying, but once he does he shakily stands up. He looks like hell.

Newt stands, too, grabbing a rag from a shelf behind them and wetting it under the faucet. "Let's get you cleaned up a bit, yeah?"

Thomas nods, sniffling. He looks up at Newt and lets him wipe his face with the cloth, getting the tears and sweat and dirt off. After a few minutes of taking deep breaths and rinsing his face off, Newt finally asks, "How did she die?"

He doesn't want to answer, doesn't want to think about it, but Thomas does anyway. "She saved my life. Pushed me out of the way when a big piece of the building came down, and it crushed her."

Newt is silent for a moment, then all he says is, "I'm sorry, Tommy. I know she meant a lot to you."

"Yeah. You did, too," Thomas replies. "Imagine how it felt when I lost you."

Newt frowns, tossing the wet rag in the sink. "I'm sorry. All this time - And you thought I was dead. I'm really sorry. I don't know what to say."

"You can start by explaining how you're alive," Thomas suggests, almost but not really joking.

Newt chuckles softly, though, and tugs on his arm before walking past him. "Right. Well, come on."

They walk through the hall and downstairs together, into the kitchen. Minho turns to them and points at the coffee maker. "It's about time. This thing is making some weird sounds."

Newt rolls his eyes, walking over and pressing a button. Immediately the gurgling sounds start quieting down, and he grabs three mugs from a shelf. "It's supposed to make those sounds, you bloody idiot," he says, pouring the coffee from the pot into the mugs. Then he hands one to each of them and leads them out to the living room.

Thomas sits in a chair across from Newt on the couch, and Minho takes the chair next to him. "So?" his friend asks after a moment of them just sipping their coffee silently.

"Where do I even start?" Newt asks, probably a rhetorical question, but Thomas answers anyway.

"How about with how you're alive? I shot you."

Newt scoffs. "Yeah. You missed my bloody heart... I would have died, but right after you left, another van came and took me. They got the bullet out in the van and did the best they could to stabilize me. Then they took me back to WICKED. I was patched up more there but they must have had a hell of a time trying to keep me still. When they were done, they put me in my own personal prison. I was kept in this place, going completely - It was bad."

Minho clears his throat. "So what about the Flare? You should be way past the Gone."

Newt nods softly, then looks between the two of them. "Well, I got the bloody cure, if that's what you're wondering." He sighs and takes a sip of coffee, then looks back up at them. "Once the explosions started, someone came and let me out. I just ran. I don't remember how far or for how long, and I barely even remember the running itself. All I know is that when I stopped, I had blood all over. I don't know how many people I hurt, but..."

"Hey. It's alright," Thomas assures. "It wasn't you." But still, he can't stop seeing that crazed look in his friend's eyes, and then the haunting image of him clawing at those poor people.

Newt nods, but it doesn't look like he's all there. "I, uh... Eventually they found me. They sedated me and took me to another location. They must have been desperate, because they worked day and night for weeks. I was kept in another cell. They just left me to go crazy, and when they finally got the Cure, they didn't know if it would work. They tested it on me but I collapsed as soon as I got it. Everyone thought it had killed me, but I woke up a few hours later completely fine."

Minho and Thomas just stare at their friend for a few moments, dumbfounded. Then Minho puts his head in his hand and lets out a long breath. "For the love of... Geez..." he says softly. "So - How did you get here?"

"Right, well," Newt starts, sitting back. "After I woke up and they made sure everything was working alright, Ava Paige came. She told me that WICKED was almost done. That they had what they needed for the Cure, but it would take years to make enough for all the people affected. So they started by taking me here. When we got here, this place was crawling with Cranks. What they had of the Cure wasn't nearly enough to get rid of even half of them. So Ava told me to stay in the house until I knew it was safe. I only left when I needed to go get more supplies from the shop, and usually the Cranks were either distracted or asleep. I was caught a few times, I'm a bit surprised I'm still breathing."

"Why would she send you to a place with a bunch of Cranks?" Thomas asks, confused.

Newt shrugs. "I'm not sure. But I think she wanted us to have a place to all be together eventually. She explained to me where you were and how to contact you when it was safe."

"What about the Flare?" Minho asks. "If you were always around Cranks, how would you not get it again?"

"That's just it," Newt says with a fresh smile on his face. "Since I've gotten the Cure, I can't get the Flare again. I'm immune."

Thomas sighs heavily, rubbing his tired eyes and studying Newt for a moment. "Why didn't you just come down in the Box? It would have been so much easier."

"I think Ava wanted us all to live in the world together eventually," Newt explains. "I mean, your resources and food are gonna run out eventually. Maybe not soon, but they will. And besides, I like it here. It was lonely at first, but I've got an entire house to myself. Books, and food, and a bed. It's better than anything I've had for as long as I can remember."

"How long were you alone for?" Minho asks.

"About as long as you've been in your so called Paradise."

"And how long was that, exactly?"

Thomas can sense Newt's hesitance as he frowns, eyes darting between his two friends. "Seven years."

It's completely silent for next minute or so, the fact that they've been living in a Paradise separated from society for so many years settling in.

"We were... Seven years?"

Newt nods softly. "Yeah."

Thomas isn't sure if it seems like it was longer or shorter than that, but either way he's stunned into silence. And for seven years, Newt has been alone. Thomas is sure he would have gone crazy if he was isolated for that long. But then, Newt has already gone crazy once in his life before. Maybe he's used to it.

"And all of the Cranks are gone?" he finally asks. "It took this long?"

"Well, after they mostly cleared out, I waited a year to make sure," Newt says. He takes a big swing and finishes off his drink, then sets the mug down. "I went miles outside of this place, and went all the way around, but there's almost nothing. I don't even know where in the world we are. But if there's one thing I'm sure of, it's that we're safe."

Minho rubs his hands together in thought, his brows furrowed. He looks so serious, something Thomas hasn't seen on him in a long time. "Don't get me wrong, it's great to see your shuck face, but... You just want us all to come up and live here? There are hundreds of us, Newt. Maybe taking supplies from abandoned stores will work for one person for seven years. But you're talking about running out of resources - If we come and do the same, we'll be out of food before we're even settled in."

Thomas is so grateful that Minho is doing all the thinking and talking, just like the leader he is for everyone. That's one thing he'll never miss - leading the people, making them feel better. Trying to fix everyone is hard to do when he can't even fix himself.

"Oh, I forgot to mention," Newt suddenly says, perking up. "I don't think we need to worry about running out of anything. Every month, a berg comes in. They restock the shops with food and anything else that's low."

"Who is it?" Thomas asks.

"Do you think it's WICKED?"

Newt shakes his head. "I don't know. Maybe. But it doesn't matter all that much to me. They're helping."

The three of them sit for a few minutes, sipping coffee, while Thomas and Minho try to think of anything else they need to know. Finally Newt asks, "So? The loneliness is beginning to get on my nerves. What do you say?"

Minho looks over at Thomas, then looks back to Newt. "I think it might work. I mean, there's enough houses, and people will share too. And if we aren't going to run out of food, then why are we gonna say no?"

Before Thomas can react, a huge grin makes its way to Newt's face and he quickly stands up. Minho gets up, too, hugging him, and Thomas slowly gets to his feet. "It was hell without you shanks," Newt tells them. "I missed you."

Minho pulls away from the hug, and Thomas can swear his eyes are wet with tears. He can't remember the last time he saw Minho cry, or if he ever has. "It was never the same without you, slinthead."

Clapping Minho on the back, Newt nods. "How about dinner? I've become quite the chef these past few years."

"I'll never say no to food," Minho replies, and steps away to go to the kitchen.

Before Thomas can start going, Newt puts a hand on his chest to stop him, frowning at him softly. "Are you alright? You don't seem very... happy about living here."

"What? No, I - I'm okay," Thomas assures him. "I don't think I've ever been more happy, actually, it's just... change, y'know? Lots of change."

Newt nods. "Of course. Well, come on." And he drapes his arms over his shoulder, leading Thomas to the kitchen, where Minho is already rummaging around in the fridge and cabinets. "What'll it be, fellas?" he asks as he walks away from Thomas and to the refrigerator. "I've got pasta, steak, chicken... Your choice."

"Can I have all of them?" Minho asks, smiling widely.

"Anything you want," Newt answers, chuckling. "This is, after all, a five star restaurant."

Thomas laughs softly. "I'll take some pasta. But you have to make the sauce perfectly or I won't accept it. Like, lots of meatballs."

"And if I find one bone in my chicken, I will send it back," Minho adds on.

"Of course, gentlemen." Newt does a small bow, then raises his head to look at them, looking happier than Thomas has ever seen him. And that makes him the happiest he's ever been.

They all start laughing, sure they won't be able to stop, as Newt gets out chicken and noodles and ground beef and gets to work. "So... Any lucky ladies back in your Paradise?" he asks after a few minutes.

Minho raises his eyebrows suggestively, a smug smirk on his face. "Come on, who doesn't want this?"

"Um, everyone?" Thomas offers, laughing.

Newt turns the flame on, then looks over his shoulder at Thomas. "And you? What about Brenda?"

"Oh, uh. No." Thomas clears his throat, glancing down. "I think she wants to, but - "

Minho scoffs. "Of course she wants to, you blind bastard."

"Hey, someone get some beers out of the fridge," Newt orders, motioning to it.

"Underage drinking?" Minho asks as he opens the door and finds a box full of the bottles. "Someone doesn't like following the rules."

Newt rolls his eyes. "First of all, what rules? Second of all, did you not hear the part where it's been seven years, you bloody idiot? We're probably, like... what, twenty-four? Twenty-five? I don't know, but it doesn't matter."

Minho hands him a bottle, and he cracks the top off, taking a swig. Thomas gets the next one, twisting off the lid and hesitantly taking a sip. But he has to force it down his throat, groaning and making a face.

"Not a fan?" Newt asks, snickering. "That's alright. There's wine, if you want to try it."

Thomas shakes his head. "I think I'll stick with coffee."

Twenty minutes later, when Newt is taking a pan of meatballs out of the oven, Thomas comes to his side just in time to grab one and pop it in his mouth. Newt hits his arm. "Not yet!"

"Ow, ow, it's hot," Thomas says, the meatball still in his mouth. He runs to the trash can and spits it out. "Why didn't you warn me?"

"Why didn't you ask?" Newt replies quickly.

Thomas huffs. "Well, it was delicious. In case you wanted to know."

"I already knew. I bloody made them."

"Someone needs a lesson in modesty," Thomas says, sticking his tongue out playfully.

"Someone needs to get a room," Minho says from the small table, rolling his eyes at them. "So, when do we go get the others?"

Newt sighs, picking up the pot of pasta and bringing it to the sink, where he starts to drain the water out. "I was thinking tonight? I mean, it's only, like, seven."

"That box isn't big enough to fit all of them," Thomas says. "Probably thirty at the most."

Newt nods. "Right, so, after dinner, you can go get the some of them and bring them back over. We'll have enough time tonight to just get them the basic necessities, like some food and clothes. The houses are all pretty much furnished already. And the berg should be coming in a few days, and after we get restocked, we can get the rest of them."

Minho nods. "Okay. I'll go. I can explain everything to them and bring a small group of them and we can get them set up in houses."

"Do you want me to go with?" Thomas asks.

"No, I got it," Minho answers, then looks between him and Newt. "You two probably have more to work out."

Newt snorts, bringing a big bowl of pasta into the dining room and returning a minute later. "And what the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?"

Minho shrugs. "I mean, Thomas is the one that shot you. He's obviously messed up because of it." And there's this bitterness in his voice, something that makes Thomas's heart shatter. He thought Minho understood. But now he's sure he hates him.

Newt stops dead in his tracks, turning and staring coldly at Minho. "Don't you dare try and blame this all on him," he says threateningly, barely even opening his mouth. "I didn't give him a choice. I would have killed him. And where would you be without him? Probably still being experimented on by WICKED."

Minho rolls his eyes. "But if he - "

"Shut your trap, Minho!" Newt screams, the sudden outburst making Thomas jump.

"It's alright, Newt," he starts to say, but his friend interrupts him.

"No, it's not alright. You can't keep blaming yourself for everything, and he can't either. That's not what friends do."

Minho sighs, rubbing his face. "I'm sorry, okay? Let's just - leave it alone."

Huffing, Newt nods once, then grabs the bowl of sauce and meatballs and the pan of chicken, and heads out to the dining room. Thomas follows, Minho walking out behind him.

The table has three places set, and not one of them hesitates to sit down and start filling their plates. Before Thomas even finishes getting his food, Minho is stuffing my face. "Damn..."

"Chew and swallow before you talk, young man," Newt scolds, playfully. He turns to Thomas. "How is it, Tommy?"

Thomas quickly puts one more scoop of sauce on his pasta then get a big bite on his fork, stuffing it in his mouth. If Heaven is real, this has to be it. "Oh, my..."

"What did I say about talking with your mouth full?" Newt asks, raising an eyebrow.

Thomas swallows in a bug gulp, smiling. "This is so good, man. Never stop cooking for me."

"I'll do my best," Newt replies with a chuckle, munching into his chicken.

After dinner, Thomas and Newt see Minho off to the box. "I'm not sure how long this will be," he says as he opens the doors. "It might take a while to explain this to everyone. But we'll come back as soon as we can."

Newt smiles, clapping Minho on the back then hugging him. "Thank you again. I really missed you. See you soon."

Then he steps away, and Thomas steps forward, allowing himself to be buried in Minho's arms. He must feel bad for everything, because he holds on longer than normal. "I'm sorry," he says quietly. "I'm just happy we're okay."

Thomas nods softly, pulling away. "Yeah. We are."

And Minho sighs, turning and hopping down into the box. He lets Newt close the doors, and immediately after they can hear it start falling. "Well?" Thomas asks after a minute. "What now?"

Newt grins. "Well. I believe you now get first pick on your living space."

"I guess you're right," Thomas says, almost hesitant. He's not exactly sure how he's supposed to feel about living in a house on his own, but there's not much to do about that now.

"So what do you think about living near me? You can come visit any time and I'll cook dinner for you whenever you want," Newt offers, glancing towards his house.

Nodding, Thomas smiles softly. He takes a deep breath and starts walking. "Sure. Yeah, that sounds great."

"Great." Newt catches up to him and they walk towards his own house, their eyes set on the one right next to it, closer to the top of the hill. "We should go check it out and see what you'll need for the next few days and then go to the shops."

Thomas skips the few stairs up to the porch of his new house, sighing. "Is it stupid that I'm nervous?" he asks, hand on the doorknob.

"No. Of course not," Newt says, reaching out. He puts his hand over Thomas's, turning the knob and pushing the door open.

It's dark inside. Completely, into-the-void, dark. Newt goes in front of him, and Thomas carefully steps in after him. As his eyes try to adjust he can hear Newt trying to turn on various lights. After a few seconds, he has to squint when one finally turns on across the room.

"Lightbulbs," Newt says simply. "You need lightbulbs."

Thomas nods once, taking a mental note and stepping further in. It's similar to Newt's place, with a big couch against the wall, a couple chairs across from it, and a smaller love seat to the side. There's a TV on a stand in the corner, and books in a few places, but not nearly as much as Newt has. Everything has dirt and dust on it, having not been used in seven years.

"Come on. Let's go look for bedrooms," Newt says, starting to walk up the dark staircase slowly.

The first door in the hallway is a bathroom, and somehow they're able to turn on the light to illuminate the rest of the hallway. Across from the bathroom is a closet, and a bit further down is a small bedroom. It has a small bed with what looks like superhero bedsheets. There are dusty toys scattered about, too. Thomas can't help but wonder where the little kid who lived here is now.

At the very end of the hall is the last door, and when Newt opens it, Thomas is almost happy. There's a big bed in it, the sheets dirty and tattered, and a big television on top of a tall dresser. The closet is giant, and so is the bathroom in it. The bedroom is so big it has a whole living space in it, with a bookshelf, chairs, a couch, and a coffee table.

"Gonna live in luxury, eh, Tommy?" Newt says, smiling as they walk in and start looking around. He turns on another lamp, sighing. "So we should probably just start with lightbulbs, sheets for the bed, some new clothes, and food. And tomorrow I'll help you tidy up a bit and get things in order."

Thomas lets out a long breath. "Wow."

"I know it's a lot," Newt says. "But I promise it won't be bad. It's gonna be a good life here. Better than anything we've ever known."

"Yeah, I know," Thomas says breathily, still looking around in wonder.

Newt steps forward and smiles. "Well. Let's get going, shall we?"

So they set off, walking who knows how far, down the hill, around all the houses, and to what looks like a strip mall. Thomas follows Newt in and watches him grab a shopping cart from the few scattered about, walking down the aisles like he's done it a hundred times. Well, maybe he has. He throws a few boxes of lightbulbs in, then turns and goes to a big section with clothes.

Newt picks up a long red dress, laughing hard as he holds it up to Thomas. "This is so you, Tommy."

"Shut up," Thomas says, grabbing the dress and hanging it back up. "You're not funny."

"What are you talking about? I'm bloody hilarious."

Thomas grabs a few pairs of jeans that look like they'll fit and and tosses them in the cart, and does the same with some t-shirts and jackets.

"You should try those on," Newt suggests.

Thomas huffs. "Fine. You go get stuff for my bed."

So he grabs the stack of clothes and leaves, finding the fitting rooms at the back of the store and going into one of the stalls. He begins to throw on pair after pair of jeans and shirts, starting to get bored just as there's a knock at the door.

"Can I see?"

A second later, Thomas opens the door and steps out, in a pair of back jeans and a t-shirt with some band he's never heard of on it.

Newt grins, looking him up and down and nodding in approval. "Looking snazzy. You know what would look good with that?" He walks away, and before Thomas can follow, he's back, a denim jacket in his hands. "Here, put this on."

"Am I putting on a fashion show for you?"

Laughing, Newt nods. "Yes you are."

"Okay. Fine."

Thomas grabs the jacket and throws it over his shirt, then looks around. When his eyes catch a brown fedora on a rack, he runs over and grabs it, putting it on his head.

"Oh, and the finishing touch," Newt says, adding a pair of round sunglasses. Then he grabs a scarf, wrapping it around his neck and throwing an end over his shoulder sassily.

Thomas lets out a loud laugh, throwing his head back. "That looks just like one you insisted on wearing in the Scorch." It's a terrible memory, but all they can do now is laugh.

"I liked how it looked with my jacket," Newt jokes, shrugging.

"Okay, but seriously." Thomas takes a breath to stop laughing, just smiling widely instead. "We were fighting for our lives. And you sure as hell didn't use it to protect your face. What was the point?"

Newt keeps snickering. "Don't judge my choices. Now go be a good model and put more clothes on!"

By the time they finally stop playing around and head back, it must have been a couple of hours. Just as they're nearing the houses, Thomas can hear the soft groaning of the box rising.

"Looks like they're here," Newt says calmly, walking a bit faster and stopping when he gets to the box.

Thomas is pushing the cart up the hill, but he watches as Newt opens the doors and starts helping people out, talking loudly so they can all hear while he does it.

"I'm sorry for the scare I gave you. My name is Newt. Some of you knew me, others - Hey! Frypan!" He pauses for a moment to hug their friend, laughing. "Anyway, this might be a little confusing, but everything is safe here. There are living spaces for everyone and everything we need is down in the shops. Can everyone take their families and go find a house, and we will be around to help you all get started for the next few days."

At the end of his instructions, people start scattering around, either indifferent or too shocked to speak. It takes hours to get everything sorted out, and by the time they're all inside and quiet, Thomas is exhausted. Newt walks him to his house, stopping at the door and turning to him. "Hey. Thanks for helping."

Thomas scoffs, shaking his head. "Thanks for... y'know, being alive."

"Sweet dreams, Tommy."

Nodding, Thomas turns and steps inside. As soon as the door closes, there's something cold and chilling about being alone. It's just him in such a big place, and now he doesn't have anyone to distract him from thinking too much. He has to force himself up the stairs and into his bed, pulling the covers up over him.

It's so dark, he's sure something is just waiting for him to let his guard down before attacking. A crank. Maybe a couple grievers. Thomas puts his head completely under the blanket, shutting his eyes tightly and trying to force the idea out of his head until, finally, he drifts away. But asleep isn't much better than awake.

This time it's Chuck. There's a griever standing over him, the boy's eyes wide in terror. For a moment Thomas can only stand and stare. But when he is able to get his feet moving, he runs full speed, screaming at the top of his lungs. Before he can protect Chuck, though, he finds himself thrown to the ground, the full impact of it knocking the air out of his lungs. He can't register anything until someone is on top of him, clawing and ripping at his clothes, his skin, his face.

"It's all your fault!"

Thomas yells out for help, looks over to Chuck, but the boy is helpless under the Griever. "Newt! Please!"

"I hate you! I hate you!"

Screaming his throat raw, Thomas kicks and thrashes around desperately. "Let him go!" He has to get to Chuck. "Please, Newt, let me help him!"

"This is your fault! You killed him!"

"Wh - What?"

Thomas looks over once more, and there he is. The griever is gone, but Chuck is there, blood seeping through his shirt, eyes open and dead and staring into his own. And to his side is Teresa, covered with rubble, blood in her hair as a last tear falls from her eyes and she whispers, "You killed me."

He can't bear to look anymore, so he turns back to Newt, but that's not much better. A small dot of red is growing bigger and bigger on his shirt. He's stopped fighting, just staring down at Thomas with disappointment.

"And you killed me."

Thomas doesn't realize he's awake until he hears himself screaming, and as soon as he does, his hands fly to his face. He manages to turn the screams into quiet sobs as he curls in on himself. It's so strange, this feeling of a real bed, of comfort and a safe home. But he hates it. He's alone and he hates it. It hurts.

And finally he can't take it anymore. He shakily gets to his feet and walks out of his room, down the stairs, out the door. He doesn't care enough to put on his new jacket or shoes, he just steps out into the dark night. Almost expecting a crank to jump out at him, Thomas walks carefully and always looks around him, until he reaches Newt's doorstep.

It takes a moment for him to gather the courage to knock. He's already ruined Newt's life enough with everything he's done - does he need to inconvenience him more by waking him up? But he doesn't know what else to do.

So he starts banging on the door, and not ten seconds later it opens. Newt is standing there, hair all over the place and eyes wet. He sniffles. "Tommy? Are you alright?"

Thomas shakes his head, chin wobbling as he covers his mouth to stop from crying too loud. "No... No... I don't wanna be alone..."

"Shit. Come here."

And he grabs Thomas and pulls him close, shutting the door quickly so that his friend won't have to hold back. And he doesn't. He chokes out a cry, his face buried in Newt's shoulder. "I - I don't wanna..."

Newt quickly shakes his head and closes his eyes, hurting to see Thomas like this. "You don't have to be. I'm so sorry, I should have been more considerate, I didn't think... Did you... Was it a nightmare?"

Thomas nods. "I'm sorry for waking you up."

"You didn't," Newt assures. "I had one, too. I couldn't sleep."

Pulling back, Thomas wipes his eyes and looks up at Newt. "Can I... I don't wanna go back. Can I stay here?"

"Of course. Of course," Newt says, nodding immediately. "There's a bedroom downstairs and I have extra blankets and pillows and tomorrow we can go out and get more stuff to get you all set up."

"Thanks, Newt," Thomas says, following his friend through the house and down a staircase off of the kitchen. Around the corner from the bottom is a room with a bed, on it a thin shit and a single pillow. The only other thing in the room is a small dresser.

Newt goes across the basement to a closet, grabbing a couple of pillows and big blankets. "It gets cold down here, so if you need to warm up just come upstairs and talk to me." And he sniffles again and throws the blankets on the bed, trying to make it look nice.

"What was it about?" Thomas finally asks, leaning against the wall and watching.

"What?"

"Uh... your nightmare. Sometimes it's better not to talk about it, but... sometimes it helps."

Newt nods. "Right. It was just.. everything, I guess. There were cranks and grievers and the Rat Man and Alby and Ben and you and... It's just too much for me sometimes."

Thomas steps forward as Newt finishes with the bed and steps back. "You know, I wouldn't let anyone call me Tommy. Ever."

Chuckling, Newt wipes his wet eyes. "Really? I'm honored."

"Yeah, if the kids called me that I always told them that it's not my name. And I've hurt people because of it. I once got in a fight with Fry because he accidentally called me Tommy. And no one understood why I was so sensitive about it. I never told anyone about that night until we got your note."

Newt frowns, studying Thomas's face. "I'm sorry. For putting all that pressure on you. It was wrong."

"It doesn't really matter now," Thomas sighs. "I missed you. And I barely hung on the first time, so I'm terrified to lose you again because I don't know if I could handle that and - "

"Hey, sh - Stop talking like that," Newt says, stepping forward and hugging him once again. "I'm not going anywhere anytime soon."

Thomas lets out a long breath, stopping himself from breaking down again and just holding Newt close, hesitant to let go. "I swear, if you're lying..." he threatens halfheartedly.

Newt just shakes his head.

"I promise, you are not going to lose me again. I care about you too much to let that happen, Tommy."


End file.
